Axehandle Hound

You’re heading back to your camp,boots soft on pine needles,night air full of crickets and firefly glow

But then you freeze—because, just beyond your tent,something’s watching you

A hatchet, glinting in the moonlight,and behind the blade—a pair of burning, canine eyes

Not a threat, not a nightmare,just a curious stare

From a creature as strange as the woods themselves